Hmong Seek Better Life in Exodus From State

For the first time since they began migrating here from Southeast Asia nearly two decades ago, Hmong refugees are leaving California in significant numbers, citing fear of gangs and impending welfare changes.

An estimated 60,000 Hmong, the highest concentration in the nation, settled in the San Joaquin Valley. Located mostly in Fresno, Merced and Tulare, they have the highest welfare dependency rate--about 70%--of any immigrant group.

Hmong community leaders say as many as 6,000 refugees have left this farm belt over the last year for Minnesota, Wisconsin, Oregon and other states. No longer certain of their welfare eligibility under the new federal law, many believe that their chances of finding work are better outside the depressed San Joaquin Valley.

“Our people love Fresno, but the job opportunities here are very minimal,” said Pao Fang, director of the local Lao Family Community agency. “They are worried about welfare reform and gangs so they believe they have no choice. They put the family in the car and their belongings in a U-Haul and they drive, no stopping, all the way to Minnesota or Wisconsin in two days.”

Picking up and leaving, he said, is in the Hmong blood. A people who were outcasts in their native China, they became a nomadic tribe of 18 clans who eventually migrated to Laos. When Communist forces overtook their mountain huts during the Vietnam War, they fled to refugee camps in Thailand and then to the United States.

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Hmong leaders say they do not know how many more families will join this new migration or if those who have relocated will end up staying. Many of the 6,000 refugees have landed in St. Paul, Minn., where 32,000 Hmong reside and assembly line work is available.

“Some of them have lived before in states where it’s cold but some of them have not,” said Kai Moua of the Lao Family Community in Merced, where the Hmong population has dropped from 13,000 to 11,000 in the last year. “I think next summer, after school is out, we will be seeing more Hmong leaving California.”

Social service agencies in Fresno and Merced said the number of Hmong on welfare has dropped recently but not so dramatically that it would indicate an exodus. “It’s almost impossible to get a handle on this thing because the Hmong are so mobile,” said Ernest Velasquez, head of Fresno County Social Services.

“We have 4,000 fewer Hmong on welfare than we did two years ago. How much of this is Hmong finding work in Fresno and getting off the welfare rolls and how much is Hmong leaving for jobs in other states, it’s hard to say.”

“For a variety of reasons--welfare reform, a better job, gangs--the Hmong are leaving Merced,” said Greg Wellman, Merced County’s director of human services. “While I can’t verify that a large number have left, we’ve started to see a small downturn in our welfare numbers over the past 90 days.”

For nearly 20 years, the San Joaquin Valley has stood out as a place of exile for what sociologists regard as the most disadvantaged refugee group ever to land in America.

Sealed off from the outside world in the rugged mountains of Laos, they had no written language and adopted a code of laws based on myriad taboos. Among them: Do not tickle a baby’s feet or he will grow up a thief.

In the 1960s, the Hmong were recruited by the CIA to fight the Viet Cong, and suffered the highest casualty rates of the Vietnam War. Many of the 125,000 who made their way to America regard welfare as redress for blood spilled on behalf of their adopted land.

Their customs--girls marrying as young as 13, fertility rates of 9.5 children per mother, shamans sacrificing puppies to cure the ill--have clashed dramatically with life in this agricultural heartland.

The Hmong have changed the landscape almost as much as it has changed them. The best strawberry growers here are Hmong, as are many high school valedictorians and some of the most troublesome youth gangs.

But for the vast majority of Hmong, this valley has meant a life of enduring poverty and welfare dependency inside an ethnic enclave mostly walled off from the rest of society. Various national and state programs designed to nudge the Hmong into self-sufficiency have largely failed.

Although California still must decide how it will interpret the fine print of the new federal welfare law, the changes probably will hit the Hmong hard. As early as next summer, refugees who have been in the United States five years and longer may lose their access to food stamps and Aid to Families With Dependent Children.

Houa Xiong, 32, who came to America in 1991 and settled in Fresno with his wife, Shia Lor, and five children, said he couldn’t risk that chance. For almost three years, Xiong got by on welfare as he attended English classes and received his high school diploma. He got a job at a Red Lobster washing dishes and busing tables, but his $5.80 an hour was hardly enough to make ends meet.

“Fresno is very nice. I didn’t want to move,” he said in broken English. “Then the welfare change and I see the gang problems. I worry about my wife and children, for their future.”

In May, Xiong decided to move his family to St. Paul where some of his relatives live. After a few months on public assistance, both he and his wife found well-paying jobs on the assembly line. She works the day shift and he works nights, and they share one car and child-rearing duties.

“We make $2,000 a month and our life is a little better. But my wife and I see each other only an hour a day and the children are sad about leaving Fresno. My oldest boy is 12 years old and the gangs seem to be better here. But I don’t know if we will stay. I don’t know the weather yet.”

William Yang, director of the Hmong-American partnership in St. Paul, said 10% of the refugees participating in orientation and employment programs are recent arrivals from California. They have had little trouble finding work.

“The traffic from California has definitely picked up in recent months,” Yang said. “Since July, many of the Hmong I’ve met at weddings and funerals have been new faces from the San Joaquin Valley. The main draw here is jobs, but a lot of them also tell me they no longer feel comfortable in California.”

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Although most of the Hmong were admitted to the United States as refugees, Yang said the passage of Proposition 187, the statewide initiative in 1994 that targeted aid to illegal immigrants, made some Hmong feel less confident about staying in California.

Richard Lee, 37, said he has driven six or seven times across the country in search of a permanent home for his wife and six children. In the 15 years since he immigrated to America, he has moved from Wisconsin to the San Joaquin Valley and back again three times.

“We love California but the jobs there don’t love us,” he said.

He worked for the Merced school district translating English to Hmong but the position was eliminated. He found a job cutting fish at a Japanese market in downtown Fresno and worked up the ladder. After he was named manager, he asked his boss to raise his $6-an-hour salary.

“He kept saying, ‘Next month, next month,’ but next month never came,” Lee said. “So I quit and went on welfare. If you depend on welfare, you have no power. I wanted a nice house and more money. That’s why I left California again.”

He moved his family to Sheboygan, Wis., in July and one week later landed a job paying $10.50 an hour plus benefits at a company that makes car dashboards. A few weeks later, his wife, Thong Moua, found a job at a wood products plant paying $7.50 an hour.

Last month, after talking up Wisconsin to the rest of the family in Fresno, his two brothers and their families joined them. All the adults have found jobs, including his 18-year-old nephew who had been flirting with gangs in Fresno.

“In Sheboygan, there are only 4,000 Hmong and no gangs and we live in a neighborhood that is mostly white,” Lee said. “Now we are looking for a house to buy. This time, we are planning on staying.”